On the Edge and Through the Void
by Skatinggirl2011
Summary: The Winter Soldier finds himself in an unfamiliar place after a stranger rescues him after a failed mission. As she begins to help him unravel his past, trouble finds them in as Hydra fights to keep him in the dark. Set before CA:TWS and The Avengers.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello lovely readers! First of all, thank you for checking out this story. I hope you all like it. My thoughts have been consumed by Captain America recently, and the result of that is this story! Second of all, reviews are much appreciated as they keep me motivated, especially during school when everything seems to be going on at once, so keep that in mind (wink, wink). This semester is coming to a close, so I should have more time to write. Additionally, I'm am not as familiar with the Winter Soldier as I would like to be (I have grown up being a DC Comics girl, but have been a long-time fan of both the X-Men and Captain America), but I plan on improving and reading as much as I can, so be patient. If you see anything that's out of character bring it to my attention (politely, please as this is a place of mutual respect).**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel, Disney, or the related franchises. This is, of course, fanfiction.**

* * *

_When you turn the corner_

_And you run into yourself_

_Then you know that you have turned _

_All the corners that are left_

_~Langston Hughes "Final Curve"_

The first thing his mind registered as he opened his eyes was the immense pain radiating through his entire body, save for his left arm, which was immune to any type of pain. His eyes fluttered open, and immediately he was greeting by the blinding sunlight filtering through the single window, momentarily blinding him as his eyes readjusted.

He had yet to succeed on his current mission. His target had gotten two good shots in, one just missing his heart, and the other lodged in his abdomen. The last thing he remembered was toppling off the bridge and into the freezing water. At the moment, he had no idea where he was. All he knew was that he needed to get back out and finish off his mission before the Soviets found out and punished him. They did not take untimeliness of failure lightly- and neither did he.

His eyes glanced around, surveying his unfamiliar surroundings. The room was small and grey, containing only the single bed he was in and a bedside table. He started to sit up with the intention of getting out of this place as quickly as possible, but cried out when he felt a sharp pain in his abdomen.

The door slammed open, and a young women rushed to his side and pressed a palm against his chest and another behind his back as she struggled to lower him back down. Instinct kicked in, and his silver cybernetic prosthetic arm clamped around her throat, and she struggled for air. Frantically, the women reached around for something as she croaked, "Please, I'm trying to help," in an attempt to reassure the rabid man, but with no avail. As she grasped what she had been trying to find, she used her newfound strength to plunge the needle into his chest, and almost immediately he felt a calming effect and released her. She pushed herself away from him as she coughed and struggled to catch her breath.

He stopped fighting the calming effect as her soothing, yet now raspy voice filled his ears, saying, "You're safe. Everything will be okay." His head throbbed painfully, and before he knew it, everything faded to black.

* * *

He heard the creak of the door and the soft pitter patter of feet followed a rustle of pages turned, waking him from his deep sleep.

He opened his eyes and turned his head. The young woman who had been in his room earlier was sitting on the floor against the wall that was opposite to his bed with a cup of tea and a book in the other. She was just getting settled in, when she looked up and saw him watching her. The younger women flung the book to the side and sprung to her feet. She was immediately at his bed side shining a light into his eyes, and he swore angrily in return.

"Good… Good…" she muttered to herself. "You're healing, thank goodness." She seemed relieved, but he wasn't sure why. She had no reason to care for a stranger.

The woman straightened up, smiling kindly, although the smile never reached her eyes. Instead hollow, blue orbs replaced what life should have been there. Still, the smile was something he wasn't used to. Everyone he had encountered looked upon him with fear etched clearly on their faces. His eyes trailed down to her neck, where bruises on her neck resembled that of a hand, and he remember their previous meeting.

"How are you feeling?" He remained silent. "I'm a friend. You can trust me. I was like you- I know what it's like. I came from the same place." Still no response. "I know you have no reason to trust what I say, but if I was untrustworthy, you would already be dead since it would've been more convenient for me. Keeping you alive was more of a burden to me than you are helpful to me," she said, firmly. "Now, how are you feeling?"

"Where… am… I?" he managed to ask, struggling in between breathes.

"Safe," she reassured him once more, but never truly answered his question. "That's all you need to know."

He coughed before saying, "I feel like shit."

She couldn't help but smile once again at as comment, which made her face light up as dimples marked the corners of her cheeks, making him feel almost human instead of the war-machine he was made to be. "Well, considering the fall you've had, I'd say that's probably a normal feeling considering the circumstances. You'll feel better soon. Just get some rest."

* * *

He woke up the third time from a dream he did not understand, but he felt much better. The sun didn't blind him as much as before, and he his breathing was unhampered. The confusion from the past few days was confounded upon as his memories returned. He remembered imposing men in uniforms passing on assignments, which he carried out ruthlessly and dutifully. The most confusing part was the lack of any memory from before his "awakening" and indoctrination as the Winter Soldier.

This woman did nothing to alleviate his confusion with her treatment of him, if she did indeed know where he came from. If she knew he was an assassin, shouldn't she be cowering before him? Who was she? And that dream- where did it come from? Had she poisoned him, sending him into delusions and fantasies? He had seen a shadowy figure- a man, judging from the physique of the form- reaching out to him as he was holding on to dear life before falling- falling and falling into oblivion. He pushed the dream from his mind as a long forgotten emotion was beginning to stir within him.

The Winter Soldier glanced around the room and found the girl was nowhere in sight. He wondered how much time had passed since she had found him.

He climbed out of bed very slowly to prevent the onset of pain that was surely imminent. The pain did come as he made it onto his feet, as the wounds seemingly pulled apart at the seams, but he paid no mind to it as the mental block he had he been trained to build kicked in and he stepped out the door.

A savory aroma reached his nostrils, and he began to walk stealthily though the hall to the kitchen, all without catching the attention of the girl, who was cooking something on the stove while softly singing a tune unfamiliar to him. He stared at her, seeing his supposed savior clearly for the first time.

Nothing about her seemed imposing or intimidating to him, yet he still was extremely wary of her. No one was to be trusted- no matter how inviting or friendly. Her short dark hair was wisped about as if she had been caught in a wind storm. Faint scars could be seen decorating her shoulders, and a larger pink one started at the base of her neck that disappeared behind the light blue tank top she was wearing, which showed off her slight, slender frame and made her look extremely fragile. This stirred within him a desire to snap her like the twig she was, but he quickly pushed that thought from his mind and had the sudden desire to run. His instinct was to kill, but this woman was not the assignment. She was safe so long as a threat was not posed.

The woman finally turned around, her bright eye meeting his icy ones as she jumped in surprise, sending the bowl she held clattering to the floor, shattering to pieces.

"Don't sneak up on me like that," she warned faintly.

He remained silent, still contemplating running.

"I'm making dinner if you want some. I was just about to warm up the plates to help keep the food warm, but that was one of the two I owned," she looked down sadly at the fallen plate. Her demeanor changed back to one of content as she smiled at him. "No harm done. I'll just eat what's left out of the pot and you can have the plate. It's not like I need a second one anyways. I'm usually the only one here." She paused for a moment before asking, "Do you want some food now? It should be ready."

The mention of food made his stomach growl, and he began to feel faint. He nodded slowly, and the woman turned from him to serve the food she had been cooking when he suddenly caught her wrist with his human hand. Within mere seconds, she had gone from stumbling backwards to having his human arm twisted behind his back as she stared him down, fire burning behind her eyes with, and he detected a hint of betrayal glinting in them.

The sudden show of strength only slightly surprised him. To keep her at ease, he pointed to the original reason he had reached out to her. "You're bleeding," he stated coolly. She looked down to find he was right. A crimson glittering gash stained her lower right calf.

"I'm sorry- I didn't mean to…" she trailed off, embarrassed that she had believed he had intentions of hurting her in that moment. "… It was just instinct. I'll-I'll be right back."

She hurried off to the bathroom and came out moments later with a bandage wrapped around her calf. Leigh turned around to him upon discovery that the glass had been completely cleaned from the floor. "You didn't have to clean it up," she stated.

He gazed into her blue eyes, observing her very carefully, and she met his gaze with an even stare. They stood like this for a while before he finally broke the silence. "You're welcome," he said, pointedly.

She smiled and then raised an eyebrow at his bare chest. "Showoff," she muttered jokingly and rolled her eyes as she moved closer with the intention of inspecting his bandages, but sensing him immediately tense up at her close proximity, decided against it. "So, food?" she asked, changing the subject, and he nodded eagerly this time.

As she was dishing out food to the lone plate, she attempted to strike up conversation, half knowing it would be a pointless endeavor. "So, do you know your name? I know you're the Winter Soldier. I was there when they started working on you, but do you know who you were before?"

He shook her question off and instead chose to observe his surroundings. The kitchen was connected to the living room, which was sparsely decorated like the bedroom he had been in. There was a single, worn down dark green couch on one side of the room, and on the adjacent side was an upright piano with a wooden stool that looked as if it had seen better days with the scratches down the legs and the wobbliness inherent in the uneven legs. A battered coffee table matched the theme of roughness the entire place had. There was a half-hearted attempt to spruce up the room with flowers that were placed on that beaten-up coffee table, but they were beginning to wilt.

"Everyone was someone before…" he heard her faintly say, but paid no mind to it. He took a seat on the couch, and the woman brought food over to him. "I'm Leigh," she stated before moving to the other side of the coffee table and sat on the floor with the rest of the food in the pot. She realized if she was going to get anything out of him, she needed to first get him to recognize she was not the enemy by giving little details about herself. At the moment, however, she was making little progress as she watched him battle inwardly with himself rather than eat the food she had just prepared. "The food's not poisoned. It might taste strange- I just threw things in that I thought might go together- but it's certainly not going to kill you," she assured him, but he still didn't touch it.

She sighed and sat the pot on the ground before walking back over to him. Leigh picked up the plate and used the fork to shovel in a mouthful of the substance before handing it back to him. "See?" she said with her hands on her hips, her mouth still full. She then walked back to her original spot, sat down, and continued eating. "You know, this whole one-sided conversation is beginning to make me feel like I'm going crazy. Please just give me a sign you are an actual human being, because I'm starting to think I just dreamed you up."

He stared at her for a few more moments before picking up his plate and scooping a forkful of the food into his mouth, followed quickly by another forkful until the entire plate was clear of any food particle. A small smile crept up on Leigh's face as she handed him the pot she was eating out of and opted for the apple that was on the coffee table beside the wilting flowers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey there, wonderful readers! First off, thank you to those who favorited and followed this story! I was overwhelmed by how quickly the notices came in, because I'm not used to that. So, give yourselves a cookie and a pat on the back for making me so happy. Secondly, I'm not sure how quickly the following chapters will get posted because I have research to present and finals to take these next two weeks, all while getting ready to study abroad, but I will update when I can. I hope to get another chapter out this weekend. As always, please review! They make me ten times happier, which exponentially increases the amount of sweets you receive. Anyways, onwards with the story! It's a super long one to make up for the lost time.**

**Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own Marvel or Disney. If I did, I wouldn't be writing here, but rather I would be with Sebastian Stan and Chris Evans at Disneyworld.**

_"Freeing yourself was one thing, claiming ownership of that freed self was another."_

_~Toni Morrison, Beloved_

"So, who were you after?" Leigh asked as she tossed a blueberry into her mouth before adding, "If you don't mind me asking…" She knew it was confidential- she had been in his place before, but at least she might get a response because of that rather than the silence that had passed between them for the whole hour of dinner. Her guest had been starving, and she continuously went back and forth to get him more food.

He still remained silent, which was expected by now. Getting any sort of response was like pulling teeth from a lion. "Okay, I'll take your silence as you do mind my question." She finished chewing, swallowed, and retrieved another blueberry from the bowl in her lap. The entire time, he watched the small fruit travel from her hands into her mouth, and he licked his lips unconsciously. Leigh laughed, sensing his curiosity in the fruit, and she remembered the Soviets kept the best of foods for themselves while feeding their soldiers only the essentials. She held the bowl out to him. "Want some?"

He didn't answer, but reached out and grabbed a handful of the strange berries, eyeing them for a moment before mimicking her motions of tossing the berry into his mouth. The berry itself was frozen, and when he bit through, it was as if he were eating flavored snow. The sweet taste was something unfamiliar to him and made his mouth water, although he couldn't decide if it was a good taste or not due to the sweet taste mixing with the bitter, chalky taste still in his mouth from the remnants of caked blood and the medicine.

"Are these normally frozen?" he asked, confused by the entire concept. He had seen berries sold by various venders or in the wild throughout the travel required by his missions, though never tasted them.

Her angelic laugh livened up the otherwise dreary room, and she shook her head. "Not really, but you can eat them either way. I just prefer them frozen, it's an alternative to ice cream since I can't have it," she explained. "It makes me sick."

He reached for last few berries remaining in the bowl and repeated the motions once more. "How'd you find me?" He asked, surprising Leigh a bit. She was used to being the only one asking questions.

"Honestly, it was just luck," she replied while shrugging. "I was on a run, and I saw you off in the distance on that bridge and heard two gunshots. Then before I knew it, you were tumbling into the water. It was so cold… When I pulled you out and saw your arm and your face, I knew who you were and had to get you out of there as quickly as possible before the Soviets came looking for you."

He was in shock at how someone her size managed to pull him out of the water and back to shelter, but he was beginning to sense there was more to her than he realized. She wasn't just some regular passerby- especially if she recognized him. He had always done a good job at covering up his trail.

"How do you know who I am?" It was the only question that mattered to him at this point, and one that was becoming increasingly important if he was to trust her.

She smiled, but it was a sad one- one filled with regret and terror. It was the first time he had truly seen fear in her eyes. "I'm not sure you want to know."

"Tell me!" His voice was firm and fierce as he slammed his cybernetic fist on the coffee table, which resulted in the area around his fist splintering.

Leigh sighed. "I started working with the Soviets right before they woke you. They used me to figure out the kinks in the hardware, and later as a punching bag. That how I got these…" she twisted around to show him the scars on her back. As she spun back around, she seemed sad, but never once did she show him the instinctive fear she felt around him.

"Why you?"

The questions kept on coming, just like she figured they would once she opened up to him. She was half expecting him to get angry, but he remained stoic, looking almost bored, but deep down a storm was brewing.

She rose to her feet, wincing as she put pressure on her injured leg. He entertained the idea of asking if she was okay, but his mouth was dry, and all of his efforts went to deciphering his own thoughts that were racing through his mind. Leigh walking down the hallway and disappeared for a moment before coming back with a thick file in one hand and a book in the other.

She sat on the coffee table directly across from him where their knees were barely touching and tossed the file to him. When he opened it up, he saw a colored photo of the woman in front of him with long, curly red hair and no trace of a smile. If it weren't for the eyes and the high cheek bones and strong features, he wouldn't have recognized her. Behind the picture was her entry form followed by hundreds of pages of reports on her various activities, both before coming to the program and during it.

Leigh watched him closely as his eyes glanced over the first page, which stated her general information, and at the bottom of the page in red were the Russian words meaning: INTUITIVE APTITUDE.

She observed the confusion in his eyes, and explained, "It means I learn things a lot faster than normal people. I have an enhanced understanding of how things work and why they work and can learn different skills in a short amount of time without in depth training. It also means I pick up on patterns easily. Everything is cause and effect, and people are predictable once you get a general sense of who they are. It's almost like a recipe or directions for an experiment. Once you learn the various signs, you can predict the outcome. I just pick apart their minds and adapt my actions to how they are going to act in the future. That ability is what the Soviets were after and why they recruited me. I was a valuable asset to them, and I willing chose to follow them."

The distant look in her eyes revealed she was no longer present, but rather traveling through time in her thoughts, lost in the past as she tried to figure out what she was feeling or where to even beginning telling him who she was. It wasn't that he would be against what she did since he was still very much indoctrinated into what the Soviets themselves did, but rather if she could accurately convey why she chose to leave without triggering his instinct to kill any opposition to the Soviets and Hydra.

Leigh moved to sit beside him, sensing him tense up once more at her close proximity, and reached into the file and pulled out a picture of what he took to be her at a much younger age, judging by the fullness of her cheeks, and a group of people- all varying ethnicities and genders. "This was taken after I completed form five and six of my education in Tanzania. I had spent my whole life growing up around that country because my father was working there for the US. My mother had been out of the picture for some time now…"

The picture itself was old and worn down, with a white crease down the middle from where it had been folded countless times. The people in the picture were standing on the sand in front of a vast body of water, all smiling with the younger Leigh at the center of the picture.

She pointed to the tall middle-aged man in the photograph with a well-groomed mustache. The long sleeves of his tan button down were rolled up, revealing the prominent, muscular forearms "That was my father." He was standing in the middle of the group with his arm around his daughter's shoulders, smiling brightly, but the glint in his eyes made the Winter Soldier suspicious. Leigh then pointed to the darker skinned man with prominent cheek bones and a smile that out-shined anyone else's. "This man was the man I looked up to. He was my teacher all throughout my secondary education, both in academics and in life in general. He did more to raise me than my father could ever do. The rest of the people in that were my closest friends around the compound we lived in."

He watched her closely as the smile that had been on her face as she reminisced about her times in school growing up alongside the other children of Tanzania faded into a small, sad one. "This was taken about a month before I became aware of everything my father had done to the people of Tanzania and of other countries within Africa, all in the name of securing American interests, and a three months before the Soviets found me and took me in with open arms." She tucked the picture away in the very back of the file, still very visibly upset about what had happened.

Leigh then showed him the book she had been cradling in her hands as if it was made of gold. The title of the book read The Autobiography of Malcolm X, and on the cover was three faces of the same man, two in color and one grey, with glasses and facial hair dressed in a suit and tie. The first face was stoic and wise as he looked off towards the heavens. The second- the grey face- was visibly angry, with gritted teeth and a knitted brow. The last face had a hint of a smile, one that was still imbued with knowledge. Storm clouds were positioned perfectly in the background.

"Malcolm X will always hold a special place in my heart for speaking truth into my life. I truly admire that man." The last part she said quietly, as if it was a thought she hadn't been aware she had voiced. She flipped through the pages, worn from wear over time with certain sentences highlighted in faint yellow. "This was the book that began to open my eyes to the atrocities Americans had committed against their own people and were beginning to do so against others with the discovery of mineral wealth in Africa. He inspired me to question where I came from- what my father had done as a wealthy white American that had benefited from the inherently racist and classist system in America. He helped me discover my strong love of justice and inspired me to fight for equality through whatever means were necessary in order to help humanity. Looking back, however, I never heeded his call to forget all hypocritical politics and propaganda and took up the Soviet's propaganda rather than continuing to seek the truth…"

Rage flared inside him as she offhandedly mention the Soviets in a negative light. As he clenched his metal fist, she looked up at him with blank eyes and quickly said, "If you're going to hurt me for insulting them, go for it. I'm not afraid. But if you were really going to do so, you would've done it already for defecting."

Internally, another war was raging within him. One with the small voice in the back of his head that reminded him she was not his mission at the moment, and the other- an ambiguous Soviet soldier- commanding him to kill her on the spot for insulting the one, true way that would bring about greatness to the world. Leigh unflinchingly stared him down as she waited for him to act. She was prepared to fight him as best she could- although she hadn't practiced since she left the Soviets two years prior.

He relaxed his hand and let her continue, despite the civil war inside his mind. She nodded and continued, "I first looked into who my father was and what part he had played in during the proxy wars in Africa as different countries fought for their independence from former colonial powers throughout the Cold War-" She thought about explaining the Cold War to him, but decided against it. It wasn't important to her story. "The Western powers and the Soviet Union used Africa and Africans as a military arena during this time to hash out their disputes while America disguised it as African instability. My previous understanding had been that the Soviets were interested in helping the Africans, who supported the notion of socialism and communalism, gain their freedom from the Western colonial powers, despite the fact that the Africans believed the Soviet's form of communism wouldn't work for them and instead believed they needed to form their own form of socialism that supported traditional African beliefs."

She got up to her feet and walked over to the stove, where the tea kettle was screaming. She turned off the heat, put in the tea bags to the two mugs she had while pouring the water and continued explaining to him how she got to the point she was at, "This, of course, made the Americans feel threatened as those typically opposing western ideology were those fighting for independence, like Julius Nyerere or Kwame Nkrumah. This made the Americans, in turn, support and arm the oppressive regimes and took out anyone who opposed the notion of capitalism and wanted a more socialized system of government. Those they took out would be replaced with someone who aligned more closely with American ideologies and would support their interests in Africa. My father was one of those who planned and occasionally carried out these assassinations. He even had the idea to disguise land mines in Angola as children's toys. It was common knowledge to those around us, I later found out. Kibwe, the man who practically raised me, was the one who told me all of this when he discovered I was looking for answers. He showed me the files and reports on all of the atrocities my father and S.H.E.I.L.D. had committed all in the name of protecting America from the horrors that might befall it."

Leigh brought over the two mugs and handed one to her guest before sitting down and taking a sip of the tea. He followed her actions once more as he listened to her story. As he did so, he flipped through her file in an attempt to supplement her story with the facts in front of him. "Kibwe also told me my mother was from Tanzania. After I was born, my father found out she was helping the resistance movement and killed her for supposedly undermining his authority. My father then discovered my ability, and was training me from the very beginning to become an asset to S.H.E.I.L.D. He helped me perfect my ability by having me practice and use it constantly until it was just a way of life. He trained me in fighting, all for my supposed protection. I was furious with all of this newly discovered information and wanted to do something. I was ashamed of my heritage and all my father did. I had to repay all that had been done. I couldn't let my father get away with actions. It was then that Kibwe told me about the Soviets, who were dedicated to eliminating the injustice from the world and establishing a new world order. I told him to bring me to them- I wanted to help in whatever way I could to get back at my father. It was the only way I felt I could start bringing about justice-"

She paused once she saw the report he was looking it. In the top right hand corner was a picture of her father with a red slash across his face. "He was my first mission. They exploited my anger for their gain, but I was proud to do it. I felt it was the justice he and the people he had affected deserved. I was bettering the world by eliminating him…"

"From there, I was hooked. They used me to eliminate all potential threats to their cause. They taught me the science they needed to further, I studied the tactics of warfare and the art of killing to become a better assassin for them, and lastly political science to help predict and understand the patterns of the world around me. After I mastered all of those, I was indoctrinated into their cause. I was a dedicated, willing soldier who would do anyone so long as it would better the world. It was then that I met you. They had woken you up from chryo to bring about the final stage in the process and needed me to help work out the kinks in your arm because it had been damaged the last time you were awake. I had never seen anything like you. Your arm and your enhanced physical abilities were astounding to me, and I jumped at the chance to apply my previous understanding of the technology you possessed to increase my expertise.

"After everything was perfect and the Soviets were satisfied, they ordered me to stand in on your training. At first, I could hold my own. Your moves were predictable, because it was the standard training used for every assassin, but then you advanced at a faster pace than anyone could have imagined. I couldn't pick up on the patterns because there were none. You were so unpredictable, and once the Soviets saw that, you became their pride and joy- even more so than before. You had exceeded expectations." She drained the rest of her tea as she struggled with stifling her emotions. Leigh wrung her hands as she struggled with the anger inside of her.

He chose not to look at her and instead continued flipping through the pages of the various missions and reports the Soviets had on file for her. She had been responsible for 10 deaths of high-ranking western military officials, as well as those in opposition to how the Soviet Union had conducted themselves. In between the reports on progress and completed missions were pictures of her strapped to a chair, unconscious as she was being poked and prodded with needles, or of her combat training with him and others in the group. The last picture was her with a knife sticking out of her back and two long, deep cuts running down her back.

"After you nearly killed me, Kibwe tried to get me to stop and defect. He told me the Soviets weren't who he thought they were- that they were just as bad as the Americans, just with a different ideology. He said he was leaving, and that I should come with him before things got worse and they killed me- that apparently every time I failed was a strike against me. I asked if I had failed, how come I never remembered it, and that's when he told me they would erase my memory every time I failed or became aware of what they were doing. I had done so three times before- which was why they never restrained you when we were training. It was punishment for me, even if I didn't know what it was at the time."

The next page he turned to was the report on Kibwe, just as those before, he had a red mark across his picture. Leigh felt as though her heart was being ripped in two as the memories flooded back to her at the sight of that picture. "Within less than twenty-four hours of his escape I was given that order. I protested at first, saying we could reason with him, but then- I don't know- I forget who he was. They gave me his file again, and he became my only mission. It wasn't until I had his blood on my hands that I remembered who he was. It was like a dam had burst in my head. The memories of who he was came back, along with what he said. It was in that moment that I was beginning to doubt everything I thought the Soviets stood for. Kibwe wasn't a threat to humanity- he had been the best humanity had to offer. I reconsidered what he had told me, and things were beginning to make sense. When I reported back to them, I made it a point to find out the truth. I became more aware of the propaganda they were feeding us all, and observed as they continuously erased your memories and others'. It was after I found the file in your hands that I knew Kibwe had been right. Within a matter of hours, I knew they would find out I discovered my file and the truth- they had been feeding us lies there, all to manipulate-"

She was slammed on the ground with such force that she felt every bone in her body rattle as the wind was knocked out of her. As Leigh looked up at her aggressor, she saw her quiet guest had retreated and made way for the assassin. If she didn't act quickly and get his human side to emerge again, she knew she would be dead in a matter of minutes. With a swift kick to the groin, she managed to loosen his hold on her and rolled out from underneath him, dashing toward the kitchen drawer, where she kept her knives.

Adrenalin pumped through her veins as she opened up the drawer and pulled out a short, sharp knife to defend herself with. Leigh whipped around just in time to dodge the incoming attack. She parried the jab out of the way got in a solid punch to the abdomen as she did so. Darting over to the coffee table to put distance between them, she spun around once more and held the knife out. He slowly walked forward with a determined gate as he surveyed his surroundings and finally her. "It's me. You don't have to do this. Remember who you are," she pleaded. "I am not your enemy."

He lunged at her and they engaged in a series of attacks, each countering the others move. Before she knew it, however, she was back down on the ground with him pinning her down once more. He had managed to get the knife from her and tossed it off to the side.

"Please. Just think it through, and you'll see I'm right. You can't remember anything, can you? It's just your mission and what they taught you- it's all you know, because that's how they want it to be-"

His metal hand grasped her throat and he lifted her up with him. Her legs dangled like a marionette doll, and she struggled for breathe as she attempted to wrestle free. "I can help you- I've been helping you… I know it's hard but fight it, Bucky."

The sound of that name jarred him, as was Leigh's intention. He released his grip on her and stumbled backwards as he struggled to remember where he had heard that name. "Wh-what did you call me?" he stuttered.

"That's your name- or at least part of it: Bucky. James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes. That's all I know, but it's a start."

Thoughts raced through his mind before everything went black.

**Sorry to end it there, but I have to get back to writing papers. It's finals week at my university. I'll try to get the next one up by Friday! Please review**!


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello lovely readers! Thanks to those of you who have reviewed so far, as well as those of you who have favorited or followed this story. It truly means a great deal to me. Here's the next chapter of the story, out earlier than I had planned just because I'm procrastinating and need a break from all of these papers. I swear, I've written like 30 pages within the past two days just with school alone- but it's almost done, and then I can update more frequently! **

**Disclaimer: I only own my OC, yadda yadda yadda.**

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"_Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced."_

_~James Baldwin_

He heard a soft cry and bolted upright in a cold sweat. The sound of his beating heart was the only thing breaking the silence. He waited for noise to add in its melody to the drone of silence and percussive heartbeat, but the melody never came, leaving him to wonder if he had just imagined the cry. He scanned his surroundings and found he was still in the living room, laying down on the couch. His previous wounds were sore from the exertion he had faced when Leigh and he fought.

As his mind awakened, he wrestled with what she had said. It couldn't have been true- and even if it was, did it matter? It shouldn't matter- and yet there was a nagging feeling inside him that said it did matter. He wasn't in control- it was just an illusion. But if she was right, he needed to find out more- to seek the truth as Leigh had done.

Another whimper alerted his senses. His heart quickened with heightened suspicion as he surveyed the room, looking for any sign of forced entry. Finding none, he rose to his feet and went to investigate the disturbance. He silently maneuvered around the apartment, picking up the knife Leigh had pulled out earlier as he did so, until he reached the door where the series of noises had originated.

He stopped for a moment, listening for any sign of disturbance. He couldn't detect the presence of anyone else, but at the sound of another distressed cry, he opened the door. Wincing as it creaked, he knew that tiny sound was incredibly disruptive and took away any possibility of surprise on his end.

However, as the door swung open, he saw there was no need for surprise. The room was empty of any intruder. His heart steadied as the threat of danger was no longer imminent. The room itself seemed to be the liveliest out of all the others, decorated with pictures from what he presumed to be her childhood, newspaper clippings of the various Nobel Peace Prize winners, posters from various operas and artists, and a packed bookshelf that seemed to strain under the weight it was carrying.

At the opposite end of the room, Leigh was sound asleep, tossing and turning as her face contorted in pain. The covers had been completely thrown off the bed, and sweat covered her forehead. The moon cast its rays across her bed, giving her skin an eerie pale blue complexion to her normally tan, lightly freckled skin and only seemed to highlight her distressed features.

This was something he was beginning to understand well. Nightmares were becoming a common occurrence during the night ever since he left for his past mission, and they only seemed to grow stronger and more vivid. After another cry filled with pain bridged the gap between them, he crossed over the threshold into her room and walked to her bed.

As he reached the foot of her bed, standing before her, he grew unsure of what to do but was aware of the reluctance in the back of his mind to just leave her alone- to do that felt wrong somehow. This confused him. Just hours ago, he had wanted her dead, but now felt the need to do something to stop the nightmare- he wasn't sure how he would, but it had to be done for some reason.

Listening to that reluctance, he moved to the side of her bed where the sheets were laying, picked them up and gently covered her. He then sat down on the chair by the window and watched on as her body gradually relaxed. Her breathing slowed to a normal state, and the hand that was dangling off the bed twitched slightly. The nightmare had seemed to pass, and he watched her for what felt like a long time before his eyes found the book she had brought out earlier.

He rose to his feet and grabbed the book from her bedside table. Moving back to the chair and sitting down, he opened to Chapter One, fittingly titled "Nightmare", and began to read the book she cherished most.

Moments later, Leigh opened her heavy eyes, finally awake from the inescapable dreams that haunted her every night. She had felt some warm presence, akin to the memories from a simpler time. At first she thought it came from the heavens, but then she saw it: Bucky- she chose to call him that when he was in sync with his humanity- sitting in the chair by the window, hunched over slightly with his arms resting on his thighs, reading her book.

Talking to him might break the peace and cause him to leave, so Leigh settled on staying quiet. It was a rare moment to see him in a restful state. She smiled to herself before closing her eyes once more, allowing sleep to wash over her without fear of nightmares returning. She was safe for the rest of the night.

* * *

It was hard for him to wrap his mind around the tentative relationship that had sprung up between them. He couldn't pin point how or why, but he felt a certain affinity to the girl, and she seemed to become full of life in his presence. He chose not to wonder if it was his presence itself and his unique physical qualities and prized status in the Soviets' schemes that attracted her, because he was aware she was lonely. He had killed many of those in exile and came to learn it was a lonely life to live.

She told him stories as she changed his bandages. White gauze stained with caked-on blood littered the bathroom floor as she tended to his injuries. She went to great lengths to take care not to hurt him or startle him, as past experiences taught her these sorts of things would bring out the killing tendencies in him. Leigh would clean his injuries with a cold cloth that soothed his heated skin. After drying the excess water, she would dab on the antiseptic over the open cuts, and he would clench his teeth at the pricking sting, but welcomed that type of pain it all the same. It was a familiar pain. Then, she would dress his wounds once more with fresh gauze, feeling quite confident they wouldn't be as bloody as the earlier ones. He was healing at a fairly rapid pace.

The whole process was a long and tedious one. He didn't always listen to the content of her stories, because his mind was too clouded with warring thoughts – which only seemed to intensify the longer he stayed and the more aware he became of the Soviets manipulative actions-, but he always listened to her voice. It was during these times he picked up on the musical cadence of her speech- he was unfamiliar with the inflections and tones she used at times. The rhythm and tone of voice was so unusual, and occasionally he could pick up on a light accent, which he observed only came out when she reached extreme emotions. It became a comfort for him to hear. At night, he would try to remember her voice to bring comfort to him, hoping to use that to stave off the nightmares that visited him.

It worked occasionally.

On the fourth day, while she was dressing his wounds once more, she halted one of her animated stories for a moment to examine the newly formed scars that had appeared faster than she was used to. He used this opportunity to ask, "Where is that accent from?"

She was caught off-guard- he rarely spoke to her, and she had gotten used to the sound of her own voice. "I grew up speaking another language the first few years of my life. We were in a region in Tanzania where people rarely spoke English, and my father thought it would be best if I learned that language first." Her forehead creased as she went back to wrapping fresh gauze around his torso. "I can't speak it anymore. It's been so long since I've been able to speak it or had anyone to speak it with."

"What language was it?" he asked. He had tried to place the accent before but found himself unable to do so.

She met his gaze with sparkling eyes and smiled, excited he was talking to her. Leigh then pointed to the colorful beaded tapestry that hung on one of the walls of the hallway leading to the bathroom. At the bottom of the tarp was were words that used the Latin alphabet but were unlike any of the romance languages. "It's Swahili," she explained and went back to work.

"Do you think you'll ever try to relearn it?" he asked, sensing her desire to pick it back up.

"It probably wouldn't be too hard to relearn, but it's just a matter of practicing it, and as you can see, the number of potential participants is severely restricted."

She shrugged and sighed deeply, and he sensed a slight longing that she could not tuck away, despite her attempt at nonchalance.

That moment reminded him that he knew very little about her, but at the same time, so much comparatively – he knew even less about himself. As she was just about to finish wrapping up his wounds, he asked, "Leigh, what else do you know about me?"

The sound of her name coming from his lips was strange, yet inviting- a sound she could get used to, but knew it would be pointless. He had to leave eventually. "I told you, I just know your name- the Soviets ran a tight ship. Nothing was revealed that didn't have to be. It was a struggle just getting your name."

Rage swelled inside of him once more, but this time not at Leigh, but at how the Soviets kept him under their thumb. He didn't remember being experimented on, nor did he remember the surgery that gave him his bionic arm. Had they erased his memory as they had done to Leigh and countless others? And if they did, why?

He clenched his jaw, and his entire body tensed up. Sensing this, Leigh looked up at him and rose to her feet, backing away slowly just as a precaution. "Why does it matter who I am or was before? Why do I have to know?" He asked, confusion and fear clouded his icy blue eyes. The rapid, conflicting thoughts made him feel as though he were being strangled. He couldn't even put to words all the questions and feelings in his mind, but those two questions were at the forefront as the good soldier and Bucky battled for control.

"It's human nature to want to know who we are and what or where we came from. We form identities over it," she said simply, still wary of a potential outburst. He remained quiet and still, except for his bare chest rising and falling rapidly. "You've been deprived of that identity to become a better soldier. The Soviets don't find it important to your purpose."

"Why don't I remember anything? If you said we've trained together before, why don't I remember you?"

Leigh remember the first time she realized her memories had been selectively wiped, and her heart broke for him. Realizing you've just been a tool in someone else's plot is painful and potentially debilitating. The control you once felt shatters with the truth you've never actually been in control. "You probably questioned something or remembered something you shouldn't have, and they wiped all memories pertaining to it."

Feeling as though he had lost all strength to stand, he sat down on the edge of the bathtub and hid his face in his hands as he tried to make sense of everything. Leigh watched on for a moment before moving to sit down beside him. She hesitated briefly with her hand stretched out, about to rub his back, as she debated whether this could bring about potential violence, but decided she could handle it if it did. She placed her hand and his back and rubbed in circles, hoping it would calm him down a bit.

He froze momentarily, unused to any sort of soothing contact and unsure how to respond to such actions. Electricity seemed to shoot from the palm of her hand straight to his back, but the effect was calming all the same. The pair stayed like that for a few minutes as he tried to sort out his thoughts, when he finally spoke up, "I need to find out. I have to go back. They can't- they can't do this to me, Leigh." He lifted his face from his hands and looked at her with pleading eyes. "What are they keeping from me?"

"If you go back, you might not find out or even get out of-"

"But if I don't, I never will!" He was standing at this point. "We're going to break in."

Leigh wasn't sure what had gotten into him today, and she wasn't sure if she liked it. She rose to her feet to meet him. "First of all, we? In case you didn't realize, when I escaped, I left intending never to return- plus, I'm a little rusty on my fighting skills, so not a good idea." He opened his mouth to protest, but she quickly continued before he got in a word. "Secondly, you're supposed to be healing. No crazy break-ins will occur during that time. I'd love to help, but I can't. "

She wasn't sure if the anger that flared up in his eyes was directed at her or the situation, but either way, she braced herself for another outburst.

It never came, instead he stared at her, unwavering in the intensity of his gaze as he thought about how to approach the situation in a way that would help out his cause. "If I help you train again, would you help me? You know the systems in place, I don't. I can get us in, but that's about it. I wouldn't know where to even start looking for what I need."

Thoughts now raced through Leigh's mind as she weighed the pros and cons of helping or not helping. She was hesitant to train with him, because it never went well for her. However, the opportunity to gain insight into his thought processes as he was fighting was very much appealing to her. It would also give her the opportunity to get back at the Soviets, and Hydra, for what they had done to her- but revenge through violence wasn't something she put much stock in. Getting the Winter Soldier out of the hands of those who had destroyed her life, however, was something she could support. Just by doing that, she could make the world a safer place. Helping him was an added bonus.

"Okay," she said before sighing. "When do we start?"

**Hope you guys enjoyed it! The next one should be out by Monday :) As always, please review. They really do keep me motivated to update regularly.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello! Thanks to those of you who reviewed, favorited, and followed this story. As I've said before, it really does mean the world to me that people are actually reading this story. The reviewers especially deserve pumpkin bread or cookies for taking the time to let me know how I'm doing. You guys are awesome! And yes, Kristen, I had papers to write- I was just procrastinating because I didn't feel like doing any more academic things for at least two hours. Everything is all finished now, except for the editing of my final paper for one of my political science classes. I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter though. Anyways, to the rest of my readers, I hope you enjoy this next chapter! Sorry it took so long to post. I have been recovering from an exhausting semester and getting ready to study abroad. As always, please review, and you will win a special place in my heart. **

**Disclaimer: I still have yet to buy the rights to Disney and Marvel, so I don't own anything related to them. I am a broke college kid. It's not happening any time soon.**

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"_The thing I'm most afraid of is me. Of not knowing what I'm going to do. Of not knowing what I'm doing right now." _

_~Haruki Murakami, 1Q84_

The oxygen flooded back into her chest as she gasped for air. Leigh's entire body wracked with pain, and she remained still on the floor, staring up at the cracked, brown-stained ceiling of the basement that suffered from water damage. "Ow…" she croaked as he appeared standing above her, offering out a hand to help her up. Leigh only glared at the silver hand instead of making a move to get up.

"Up," he commanded, but she refused to move.

"C'mon, James, we've been at this for a good two hours now. My bruises have bruises. Just give me five min-"A swift kick to the side interrupted her plea and knocked out the wind she had just managed to gather.

"We're not done. Do you think they're going to give you a break?" he asked as he picked her up and flung her across the room.

Leigh landed with a thud. "God dammit," she muttered to herself as she rolled onto her stomach, surveying the room for anything she could use to her advantage. She knew she would have to gain the upper hand on him at least once before he would let her quit.

He had broken the bat she had found at the corner of the room, parried her knife out of her hands and into his, and left her defenseless- all except for what he had taught her and what she remembered from her training with the Soviets.

Her eyes spotted a loose floorboard right in front of her that they had somehow missed during their practices. If she timed it correctly, she could use that to her advantage. Ignoring the pain that wracked her entire body, she stood up by the edge of the loose floorboard, waiting for him to get close enough for her to initiate her plan.

He stalked over to her with a fire in his eyes and dilated pupils, indicating the Winter Soldier had full control over his mind. Adrenalin pumped through her veins as she recognized this, and she knew if she didn't get this right, there would be hell to pay. Just as he reached the spot she needed him in, she stomped on the floor board, causing the other end to shoot up, hitting him in the face.

His hands flew up to his bloodied face, and she used this moment of distraction to attack. Leigh ran at him full speed and side-kicked him in the stomach. He lost his balance and stumbled backwards. Again, she used this moment and kicked his legs out from underneath him, and he crumbled to the ground.

Leigh stood there with her mouth open in shock and a slight upwards tug at the corners of her mouth that seemed to indicate she was pleasantly surprised with herself. She offered out a hand to help him up as she asked, "Truce?"

His eyes clouded over, and he seemed even more surprised than she was that he was the one looking up from the ground for once. He blankly stared at her, still trying to register what had happened. How could she get the upper hand on him? He had to admit that he was impressed with how quickly she had improved in just a matter of days. Leigh had seen his confidence, bordering on cockiness, and flipped it around to her advantage.

"C'mon, I need water," she begged and stretched her hand out even farther. "So, truce?"

He reached out for her hand, and her eyes glistened with happiness at the prospect of being done, but that happiness turned right back into surprise as she felt herself being flipped over onto her back once more. He then took her hand and shook it. "Truce."

Leigh glared at James's back as he jumped to his feet with ease. He had ruined her moment of victory- a very narrowly won victory at that- by taking her down once more. "Jack-ass!" she called after him.

He stopped walking away and looked back at her with a smirk on his face, shrugging. "You left yourself open to that possibility. I just took that as an opportunity." He sauntered over to her and helped her up to her feet.

For a moment, he thought about telling her that she had done a good job but immediately shot that idea down. It was expected that she would improve, so there was no reason to tell her she was doing so. Besides, he wasn't sure how to go about complimenting anyone- he had never done so or received one for as long as he could remember. And why should he compliment her? It wasn't like she was seeking his approval, or that he wanted to outwardly praise positive work- he never received that, so why should she?

The crease between her brows and the pursed lips told him she was upset, and a part of him felt horribly for ruining her moment and dashing any prospect of joy she could have felt from winning. He almost missed seeing that smile, and he definitely preferred her smile to the look she was giving him now- it didn't matter. Her joy wasn't important to the mission, so he should worry about destroying it or nurturing it.

Leigh watched him as his smile faded and decided to give him some space. "I'll be upstairs if you need me." And with that, she disappeared from sight, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He was beginning to fight with himself, and Leigh sensed it was something he needed to deal with on his own. If he needed her, he could reach out for help.

When he came back up to the main floor of the house, he found Leigh sitting on the kitchen counter with Saran wrap around her shoulder, holding an ice-pack in place as she held a piece of gauze at the corner of her mouth and papers in her other hand, which she studied intently. Her wet hair seemed to be untamable as the strands, despite their short length, tangled in knots and waves. She was wearing the same tank top he had first seen her in during their first encounter, and he could see the yellowing bruises he had inflicted upon her in previous training sessions more clearly, as well as the newly forming ones.

He closed the door behind him, alerting her to his presence. Leigh looked over at him and smiled. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming back."

"We have a job to do," he replied plainly and stalked passed her.

"Wait!" Leigh called after him and jumped off the counter. For the second time that day, she swapped her smile for a stoic face, her lips pursed and her entire demeanor was entirely professional instead of the friendly personality he had grown used to. "I have information about where one of the agents will be. He's supposed to meet one of Hydra's agents at one of their bases. If we can intercept the message the agent is carrying as well as the information he possesses, we can find out who has your file and where they're located, and hopefully the passcodes to get into the facility."

She tossed the papers at him and turned back around to attend to the tea kettle that was now whistling. He flipped through the pages that contained email exchanges, the backgrounds on both the agents as well as the venue they were meeting at.

"I went out yesterday and got everything we need, including the tickets," Leigh told him. "They're meeting two days from now, and I figured the best way to gain access to them is to go in as theater-goers instead of the usual sneaking around you seem to be fond of." It would be easier to get closer to their targets if they blended in with the crowd around them. Breaking and entering would be too risky, especially since Leigh hadn't done it in a few years and was rusty at doing so. This way, there would be no suspicion from guards, the crowds or the agents- so long as they successfully altered their looks and identities.

Based off of information before him, the agents were meeting at the Prague Opera House during an evening showing of Don Giovanni to exchange sensitive information on the transferring of information to the new Hydra base. "How do you know they'll have all the information we're looking for."

"Always the doubter," Leigh muttered under her breath as she poured the tea into two mugs before turning around and taking the papers back in exchange for the tea. "Well, if you read the emails closely, it's clear the information will be there, and besides it doesn't matter either way. We'll find what we want."

She turned around and grabbed her book and left the papers on the kitchen counter nearest to the hallway. "I'll be in my room if you need me. The papers are here if you want to look over them more closely." With that, she left him alone once more, book in one hand and tea in another, and for once, he truly felt the weight of being alone.

* * *

_Bucky found himself strapped to a metal table. Pain coursed through his entire body, but he felt strong- he would venture so far as to even say powerful, despite his incapacitated state. A blurry figure moved closer and held out a syringe filled with an unknown fluid. The syringe pierced his skin, and Bucky cried out in pain before completely blacking out. _

_The loud rumble of the train created a drone that cancelled out any noise. His muscles strained as he held on to frozen bar on the side of the train as someone reached out to him. The man in red, white and blue had his hand stretched out to him and his mouth moved as if he was calling out to Bucky, but no sound was made. _

_He couldn't hold on. The bar broke off, and he fell into the never-ending abyss of grey and white before everything went black. _

_His eyes slowly opened and he was greeted by a bespectacled man shine a light into his eyes. Bucky glanced at his left arm and found nothing but a bloody stub. _

"_That will be mended soon enough," he was reassured by the bespectacled man in German._

_The scene faded again, but not before a red octopus flashed before him._

"Bucky! Bucky, you're okay!" Careful not to have the same experience as last time, Leigh stopped shaking him and jumped backwards right before he shot up, reaching his metal arm up to an invisible figure, ready to choke the apparition that had appeared before him in the dream. "It's me, Leigh. You just had another nightmare."

Her voice- the calm, soothing, slightly accented voice- did exactly what it always did. He came back to reality. The images from his dream still plagued his mind, but he fought to keep them away by focusing on the space around him. His gaze focused in around Leigh, who was close to the wall at the side of his bed, maintaining a safe distance for reasons known by both parties, but instead of looking scared, she remained calm and even smiled his gaze found hers.

"Hey there," she whispered.

"Hey," he replied, a small smile appeared. "Just a bad dream." The moonlight seemed to avoid his face, except for his eyes, which reflected the bright light and made his irises even bluer. The effect only seemed to highlight the haunted look in his eyes.

"I figured. Do you want to talk about it?" She asked and inched closer as the threat of danger was no longer present.

Bucky shook his head. Leigh sighed and began to leave the room. "Don't go," he muttered. "I need you here."

Hearing this, she looked back and flashed him a reassuring smile. "I'll be back, my tea is ready. You want some?" He nodded, and Leigh left the room momentarily and arrived with two mugs, steam dancing from the top. "I couldn't sleep, so I got up to make tea, and then I heard you screaming. So before I came in, I put on enough water for the both of us just in case you wanted some when you woke up. If you didn't, then more for me! It's a win-win situation." Her eyes lit up when he took the tea from her hands.

"You drink a lot of tea," he pointed out, still smiling. He felt the calmness she possessed wash over him as well.

Leigh laughed. "What can I say, it's my vice. Some people drink wine, others have copious amounts of sex, and I have my tea. I'd like to think it's one of the healthier addictions out there."

Silence fell between them as they drank their tea, but was broken a few minutes later by Bucky asking, "Why are you being so kind to me?" He had a nagging sense of guilt earlier that day. He had done nothing to earn that kindness, and quite frankly he felt as though he didn't deserve it. His eyes fell to the fading bruises around her neck and then to the tops of the scars that began at the top her shoulders and ran down her back. "I've killed people, Leigh- I've hurt you on multiple occasions, so why do you still treat me so well?"

Leigh stared at the rim of her mug as she thought about her words before they left her mouth. She always had trouble finding the right words to accurately convey her thoughts since her thoughts usually came and left at lightening speed.

"Because, Bucky, as far back as you can remember, you've never been shown kindness. I know what it's like. All your life, you're just treated as a pawn. You're used and abused, and it becomes all you know. You assume everyone is treated that way because it's the only thing you've seen. Then, when you get out of the carefully crafted world they've kept you in and into the real one, you realize not everyone is manipulative though many are in some way, shape or form. Your eyes begin to open up to the humanity inside each and every one of us, and you see the need for kindness to draw that out of people and get them to see the humanity inside themselves as well-" She paused, realizing she was rambling on and on. She looked up at him and gave him a sad smile. "My point is, sure, you've done bad things, but we all have. We learn and improve on ourselves, and if people don't give you a chance to do that, than what's the point in getting better? In my eyes, the bad things you've done are a direct result of the brainwashing you've been through. You deserve all the kindness this world has to offer- besides, it's what friends do."

"Friends?" He seemed confused. He wasn't sure what a friend was, or what it even felt like to have one. He felt like the man in the red, white and blue had been his friend, but he wasn't sure. Dreams were just that- dreams. For all he knew, the man was just a figment of his imagination. To his knowledge, he had never felt the warmth and comfort he felt around Leigh- but he still wasn't sure whether he liked the feeling or not. He certainly didn't like the confusion.

"Yeah. We're friends. We trust each other, don't we?"

Buck shrugged as tears welled up in his eyes. "How can you trust me when I don't even trust myself? Everyday is a battle, Leigh. I don't know when the Winter Soldier will come out, and when he does, he brings about destruction. How can you trust me to control that part- to make sure I don't hurt you?" He was struggling to slow down his breathing. It was one more thing he was losing control over. "I mean, I don't even know who I was. For all I know, I was a bad person. Why else would I have been recruited into this line of work."

"Hey now, I'm not worried about that. I can handle myself," she reassured him. "I trust you because you're questioning yourself and your actions. Deep down, you are a good person- it's moments like these that reassure me of that. As for the being a bad person being one reason you were recruited, I can't say. I doubt that's the reason. You were strong enough to withstand the serum, and you have that arm. Bucky, you are one heck of a force to be reckoned with, and I have a feeling that's what they saw."

His breathing slowed down, and a glimmer of hope and happiness appeared in his eyes.

She put a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "Everyone needs at least one, so I'm your one," she replied, smiling. Seeing his shoulders tense up, she could tell he was uncomfortable, so Leigh brought her hand back to her mug so that both hands were cradling the precious liquid, and she changed the subject. "So, you read over the information I gave you?" She nodded over to the papers by the bedside table.

"Yeah, so we're going to Prague?"

"Indeed we are. Everything is ready. We will leave in the morning."


End file.
